The Heir Apparent
by ChasingPerfectionTomorrow
Summary: Tauriel saves Kili's life during the Battle of the Five Armies and alters the course of history, forever. (Highlights the years between The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings Trilogy). Rating may increase to M in the future.
1. The Fall of Durin's Line

**A/N: **It has been many, many years since I have written anything LotR related, and I'll be the first to admit that I'm a tad (or a lot?) rusty. I did, however, do some researching and re-reading before diving into this endeavor, though it in no way makes me faultless. I've written this story with a mixture of book and movie cannon (obviously, as Tauriel doesn't exist in the books and Azog was killed long before the events in _The Hobbit_). I'm aware that many LotR/Hobbit fans were outraged by the not-so-subtle love story between Tauriel/Kíli, but I myself loved it and thought perhaps I might contribute a story centered, as believably as possible, on what that might possibly lead to.

**Description: **_Tauriel saves Kili's life during the Battle of the Five Armies and alters the course of history, forever. (Highlights the years between The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings Trilogy). _

**Disclaimer: **I own neither the works of Tolkien nor the creative prowess of Peter Jackson, so take pity.

* * *

**The Heir Apparent**

**Chapter One: The Fall of Durin's Line**

_Oh, misty eye of the mountain below_

_Keep careful watch of my brothers' souls_

_And should the sky be filled with fire and smoke_

_Keep watching over Durin's sons._

_-I See Fire, _

_Ed Sheeran_

* * *

_23 November, 2941 TA_

**T**auriel was no stranger to death.

Her two hundred years as Captain of the Guard had shown her the fragility of even an elven life, but she had never imagined she'd witness it at such magnitude or cruelty. The very air was poisoned with anguish and loss and her lungs burned with each shuddering breath she drew. Wielding bow, arrow and swords she pressed her way through the host of Goblins and Wargs toward the small, lethal company of dwarves as they cut a path from the Gate of Erebor. They were nearing the ground Azog and Bolg held, the two Orcs surrounded by their personal, well armored guard, and fear leapt into her heart. She was not going to reach them in time.

Her world became a blur of grotesque faces awash in black blood and harried by shrill cries of pain and death. She fought harder and more fiercely than even she had believed possible and later, after the battle had been won, many would speak in hushed, reverent voices of the She-Elf who had felled every goblin who came before her, leaving a river of death in her wake. She would remember very little of it save for the moment she broke free of the main host and caught sight of Thorin as he fell. Her world narrowed and slowed as she caught sight of a familiar black haired archer with his elder brother at his side as they faced down an impenetrable wall of Warg mounted Goblins. She watched, transfixed, as the brothers stood resolutely over the prone form of their fallen kinsmen, swords raised in stubborn defiance. _Curse the foolishness of dwarves_, she thought and leapt forward. She reached behind her to take another arrow, intent on saving the two brothers if she could, and felt only empty air. Her heart stopped and her steps faltered; she was too far away to be of any use hand to hand and she watched helplessly as Fíli took a blow to his midsection and stumbled. Despite the distance, Tauriel could hear Kíli's cry of outrage and grief. He threw himself wildly into the line of Goblins in a rage of flashing steel.

_I did not save him only to watch him die_.

Determined, she took quick survey of the area around her. Men, elves and dwarves fought in close proximity but they took no notice of her, engrossed in their own battles and fears. She caught sight of an elven arrow, gold tipped, and finely made, protruding from the gut of a Goblin a few feet away and judged it her best and only hope. Leaping over several corpses, some of them familiar to her, she yanked and twisted the arrow free of the vile beast and with no hesitation she raced across the blood soaked earth to place herself in range. Pushing her fears, doubts, and heart aside, cool calculation took control. Kíli was holding his own but he would not last. He was a skilled, hardy warrior, perhaps more so than she might have anticipated, but help would not reach him in time. She was his only hope and she had only the one arrow.

He stumbled when she was only barely in range and Tauriel knew, as a Goblin raised a crude sword over his bulbous head and Kíli fumbled for his own weapon, that this was her only chance. Dancing away from the blade of a charging Goblin, heedless of her own safety, she stopped dead and took aim. She breathed, once, she breathed twice, and she fired, setting her arrow free with all her hopes and wishes and deepest, largely unrealized, feelings along with it. Like a miracle, the arrow found its mark through the creature's eye and Kíli rolled to avoid the falling, armor heavy body, rising quickly to his feet with sword in hand. He turned toward her in surprise and their eyes met across the bloody chaos. Tauriel experience a moment of pure clarity unlike any she had experienced prior and it shook her down to her very core.

_I love him and it will be the ruin of me_.

But they were not out of danger yet and Kíli obviously refused to leave his brother and Uncle's side. A line of enemies stood between she and the young dwarf prince and she drew her knives with deadly purpose. She was alone, with no one at her back, and she knew she had placed herself in a dangerous, possibly deadly position. At least, she reasoned, she could take as many of the foul beasts with her as she could. And maybe, by the grace of the Eldar, she had managed to save Kíli's life. Again.

Suddenly, from somewhere behind, she heard a roar so fierce and terrible she fell immobile in its echo. The horde parted in degrees and the Goblins around and before her faltered, many fleeing. Wide eyed and rooted Tauriel watched as a massive bear came barreling toward her, shredding Goblins with teeth and claw, a dreadful blood thirst in its black eyes.

"Tauriel!" came a voice, familiar and fierce, "Move!"

With a gasping cry, she darted and rolled away from the creature with a mere hands breath to spare. When she rose, Legolas was at her side, hair disheveled and streaks of blood, red and black, marring his beautiful mithril armor. He held one of his long daggers in hand it was black with blood.

"Are you alright?" He asked, his tone tight and his face hard. He wore his father's eyes, cold and calculating, and a chill took her. Taruiel felt faint as she nodded and took his proffered hand, rising shakily to her feet. She wearily, the fight in her momentarily subdued, watched the path the great bear carved and felt sick inside as it neared where Thorin had fallen; where Kíli, whom she could no longer see, had last stood.

"The King Under the Mountain has fallen," she murmured and released Legolas's hand.

"Then he met the end he deserved," Legolas replied, tone harsh and void of emotion. Tauriel hadn't the strength to argue and again followed with her eyes the path the bear had created in hopes of finding Kíli still alive somewhere in the wreckage. Legolas stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder.

"The dwarf prince is dead, Tauriel, do not follow after him."

Anger flared as the battle around them turned, at last, in their favor, and she shrugged off his hand violently, facing him with snapping eyes.

"Then I shall morn his loss and that of his kinsmen, for they were beings worthy of remembrance and honor," she said, though in her heart she could not accept that Kíli was, in fact, dead. Legolas looked stunned, hurt, and perhaps even betrayed, and she turned her back to him.

As she moved up the slight rise toward where she had seen Kíli last, humans, dwarves and elves alike fell in line beside her, eager to route the remaining Goblins as they retreated. Tauriel could not have cared less. Many lives had already been lost and she was not eager to watch the loss of more. She crested the hill and discovered the body of Thorin was gone with the massive bear nowhere in sight. Fíli, however, remained where he had fallen. Turning, she spotted an achingly familiar blue cloak and dark head motionless on the ground a yard away. She looked back briefly to the fallen dwarf before her as a spreading numbness swept through her limbs. Fíli's eyes were closed and the blood from his stomach wound had long since stopped flowing. His once cheery face was pale and flecked with blood and dirt, his broad chest still.

"Go in peace, young prince," she murmured softly in Sindarin and moved away, leaden feet drawing her toward the prone form of Fíli's younger brother.

She fell boneless to her knees beside Kíli, heedless of the blood and grime and dimly aware she was crying. With trembling hands she reached out and rolled him gently onto his back. His responding groan was perhaps the most joyous sound she had ever heard and her heart stuttered in her chest.

"Kíli…" she breathed and watched as his eyes fluttered and opened. His face was pale, his hair tangled and mated. There was a thin trail of blood trickling from his nose and his dark blue eyes seemed dazed, but, miraculously, he smiled. She took a few deep breaths, her relief and hope so acute, they stung.

"I knew you would find me, you're… always saving me." He reached out his hand, large fingers stained and dirty, and touched her cheek in reverence. She covered his hand with hers and they stayed like that for several timeless moments before sudden grief darkened his gaze.

"Thorin… Fíli…"

Tauriel winced and reached out to smooth the hair away from his face with an unsteady hand. She spoke softly, carefully, "Thorin is gone. Taken, I expect, by the Skin Changer. He may yet be alive. F-Fíli…" she trailed off, at a loss for what to say. Grief took Kíli and he lurched gracelessly to his feet as she watched helplessly, unable to stop him. He stumbled toward his brother's body and fell across his chest in heavy, weeping sobs.

Another of his company, the one they called Balin, came to her side bearing axe and blade, brilliant in the armor of his people. She looked up at his aged faced and she saw grief and loss in the old dwarf's gaze. They said nothing as the battle died down and dissipated around them, they could only silently watch Kíli's grief and reflect on their own.

* * *

**T**auriel found Legolas that evening as the sun set bloodily behind distant mountains. He sat silently and alone around the fire outside his father's great tent. A very dire meeting was taking place within, one she suspected Kíli was a part of. Stifling a groan, every muscle in her body screaming in protest, she sat beside him.

"You fought bravely today, Tauriel," Legolas said eventually, not looking at her. She watched the flames dance in his dark eyes and gleam red in his golden hair with a pang of sorrow. Did he care for her as King Thranduil had said? He was still the most beautiful elf she had ever seen and her heart ached. There had been a time, not so long ago, that she had believed herself in love with Legolas but she had known it was a match that was never to be made. She found it ironic that the next person she had fallen in love with was a dwarf and much further beyond her reach than any elf might ever have been.

"As did you, my Prince," she said kindly and he glanced briefly at her face. An awkwardness fell between them which had not existed before the fateful day they had captured the company of Thorin Oakenshield and she mourned it's lost. She felt she was losing an important friendship but seemed ill equipped to save it.

There was the rustle of cloth as the tent flap was lifted and they both turned to find the daunting visage of Dáin Ironfoot, Chieftain of the Ironhills, surveying them critically. Tauriel has heard many tales of the dwarf's deeds but had never seen him in person. He seemed as hard and unflinching as stone, with wild gray hair and dented armor. He stepped gruffly aside, hardly sparing either elf a glance, and Balin followed behind him. The old dwarf had been divested of his armor and was once more the humble diplomat in robes of fur and silk. His face was a mask of stoic grief and he seemed aged many more years since last she had seen him.

He met Tauriel's gaze and said, "King Thorin has died as has his nephew, and heir, Prince Fíli."

Now Balin moved aside and a figure, taller than either of the other dwarves before him, moved slowly into the firelight and Tauriel resisted the urge to rush forward. Kíli's face was pale, drawn and lifeless. Gone was the care free dwarf she had met, who'd flirted and jested, he seemed only a shadow of himself. Tauriel had never seen such grief or such sorrow and her very being ached with the pain of it. Had she the power, she would have taken his pain and born it herself.

"I give you," said Balin, in a voice that trembled, "Kíli, son of Fínor, King… Under the Mountain."

* * *

**A/N: **And there it is, short, I know, but I hope you enjoyed it. I've already finished the second chapter (much longer) but still need to read over it a few more times before I throw it up here. If you feel so inclined, reviews are always, always welcomed along with any constructive criticisms.


	2. Question of Ascension

**A/N: **I apologize I didn't get this out sooner! Had a rather surprising personal matter come up in the form of a Christmas marriage proposal. Which, for the record, I'm incredibly excited about, but it does have it's share of responsibilities. Spent much of the past few days moving into my fiancé's place and informing an endless sea of family and friends of the good news. :D

That being said, thank you so very, very much for the amazing feed back I received for the first chapter of this fic. It was a wonderful surprise and I hope you all will enjoy this next instalment!

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing of Tolkien's works of Jackson's theatrical adaptations.

* * *

**The Heir Apparent**

**Chapter Two: Question of Ascension**

_If this is to end in fire_

_Then we should all burn together_

_Watch the flames burn auburn on _

_The mountain side high._

_-I See Fire, _

_Ed Sheeran_

* * *

"**I** give you," said Balin, in a voice that trembled, "Kíli, son of Fínor, King… Under the Mountain."

Dáin Ironfoot snorted loudly, startling Tauriel and eliciting a deep, disapproving frown from Balin.

"We haven't finished discussing this matter, Balin," the old Chieftain said in a hoarse, gravelly voice and departed without another word or a single glance at any of them. Tauriel looked curiously from Balin to Legolas to Kíli in confusion but no one seemed interested in enlightening her. No one even wanted to_ look_ at her. The silence stretched till she could no longer bear it.

She stood and, gritting her teeth against her aches and strains, cut Kíli a short bow. Her keen ears caught Legolas's disapproving hiss but she ignored it.

"My condolences, King Kíli, for your tremendous loss. May the Valar bring you comfort and peace." She said and raised her head slowly, suddenly self-conscious. She met Kíli's gaze and found a flicker of the tenderness he'd once possessed before he bowed stiffly in return.

"Thank you, Tauriel, for everything you have done for me and my kinsmen." He rose and the tenderness was gone. He would not meet her eye. She wanted to say something, anything, to ease his grief, to assure him he still had those who cared. Who could believe in him, though she could not understand why she felt so sure of him. She hardly knew him, really, but since the fateful day she'd rescued him from the spiders in Mirkwood she had been drawn to him. As irrevocably as the tides to the moon.

"Excuse me… I would see to my Uncle… and b-brother" he barely managed to get the word out and stepped sharply away from her without looking back, disappearing into the setting night so swiftly he seemed born of shadows. Tauriel could hear the sounds of celebration crest into the dark and they seemed somehow irreverent and cruel. So many had lost their lives, what cause was there to celebrate? She stepped after Kíli, not entirely sure what she meant to do, but Balin stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm.

"Let him go lass, he needs a moment alone. He's still in shock."

Tauriel flushed and moved away from his touch, closer to the fire, her emotions confusing and distorted. She was unused to being so uncertain of herself. Long years had passed since she'd felt so conflicted, so… _lost_.

Legolas chose that moment to speak, drawing her attention. "Dáin of the Ironhills is laying claim to Erebor, isn't he?"

Balin opened his mouth to respond, but it was another, more familiar voice that answered him.

"Yes, he is Legolas, and a valid claim he has. Thorin's nephew is barely considered an adult even among his own people and knows nothing of governing."

"Father," Legolas said, rising to bow to King Thranduil as he exited the tent and Tauriel did the same. She both agreed and disagreed with her King and it tore at her. Kíli was indeed very young, how young she didn't know, but much younger than the others of his wayward company she was sure. But she couldn't believe he didn't have a deep and abiding understanding for the needs of his people. While imprisoned he'd told her wonderful tales of his years abroad, working as bodyguard and smithy as he'd grown, speaking quietly of the hardships his people had overcome with pride and promise. Carefree, Kíli might have been, but he was not a child nor was he a stranger to the demands of leadership. He had, after all, grown in the shadow of his Uncle, whom, whatever else he might have been, was inarguably a great leader. And who better to lead a kingdom than he who did not want it, she wondered.

She watched as Balin bristled and drew himself up to his full height, which brought him, maybe, to her rib cage, "It is not a matter for Elves to decide, King Thranduil, and Kíli is a direct descendant ofthe strongest line of Durin. He is the last living heir of his bloodline and the one who should be King of Erebor."

Thrandruil's lip curled in disdain, his angelic face twisted slightly in anger, "A line poisoned with greed and gold lust which has brought your people only ruin and misery. That line has been polluted since Durin's Bain and the fall of _Hadhodrond_."

Balin's face turned an alarming shade of red but it was Tauriel who, much to everyone's surprise, especially her own, spoke, "I do not believe Kíli suffers from the treasure lust of his fore fathers."

Three sets of eyes turned her way, ranging from fury, confusion to acute disapproval. She lifted her chin, unwilling to take back her words now that they were spoken.

"And what would you know of such things, Tauriel?" Thrandruil asked, his voice laced with displeasure.

There had been a time, not so long ago, where she would have bowed and heeded him, but over the last decade worry and suspicion had driven her increasingly toward derision. Thrandruil was not the King of her youth; he was not the man who had all but raised her. He seemed recently taken by common pettiness and scorn, utterly cut off and uninterested in the world outside their diminutive lands. Tauriel, who had always dreamed of more than familiar halls of old trees and the same sea of faces, had, over the past hundred years, found herself dissatisfied with the life of a Silvan elf under the rule of a Sindarin King. She longed for something different, something more.

"Very little perhaps, my King, but I have come to know the dwarf Kili and I think it easy for any who wish to see that he is free of that darkness which plagued his Uncle," she said, rising to stand tall in his presence. She could feel Legolas's warning eyes like daggers from her side.

Thranduil's eyes narrowed perilously and he stepped closer to her, the dancing fire eliciting unpleasant shadows on his ethereal face. Tauriel resisted the urge to take a step back and lifted her chin in stubborn defiance. Those around them seemed to be holding their breaths. Tauriel had to wonder at her own insubordination, while dissatisfied of late, she knew she was crossing a line far from mere insolence. What had come over her?

"You presume much, Tauriel, it is not for your kind to question the judgment of those wiser and better than yourself. I have allowed you much responsibility and freedom… perhaps too much." He said in Sindarin and there was a shadow across his face that cowed her fleeting bravery.

She ducked her head quickly, face flushing and heart pounding, "I apologize, my King, I intended no disrespect…"

"Please, father, she is battle weary and not herself," Legolas interceded and she shot him a glance. His countenance was pleading and shame washed through her. She should not have spoken thusly but there was no help for it now.

Thranduil was silent for several tense moments before saying slowly, "In light of today's events perhaps some… _understanding_ can be given. Leave us now Tauriel, and find rest, this is not a topic meant for your debate." The Elven King said in a clipped tone and grateful, Tauriel bowed low, not daring to glance at his face.

She left quickly, not looking again at either Legolas or the dwarf, and winding blindly through the tents. _Valar save me, what is the matter with me?_ She hadn't gone far when a gruff voice stopped her, "You did us a service lass, speaking thus, perhaps not all Elves are to be mistrusted…" She turned and found the fearsome Dwalin appraising her from the shadows, likely waiting for his kinsmen. He, of all the dwarves in his party, seemed the most ferocious.

For some reason Tauriel resented his statement, as though he were accusing her of betraying her own kind. Her already frayed emotions frazzled further and she longed desperately for isolation. "I merely spoke the truth, dwarf, nothing more," she said harshly.

The tattooed dwarf simply smirked at her, the moon shining off his bald cap and the gruesome edge of his war axe, "Whatever you say lass."

She sent him an icy glare and continued on her way, tired of dwarves and their brusque manners and imprudent impudence.

* * *

**A**lone in her small tent, located on the outskirts of the Elven camp, Tauriel undressed slowly. She removed her armor with practiced fingers and set each piece aside with care. One of her subordinates might have helped, but she saw no reason to bother them. Every Elven warrior would be faced with his or her own pain this night and they deserved their own measure of comfort and solitude. It had been many years since her people had seen the sort of loss among their kind as they had this night, not, at least, in Tauriel's lifetime.

She missed the company of her Prince and their formerly easy kinship, longing for his comforting words and sound advice. Once, she had seen him as a sort of elder brother, a mentor, and eventually as a well-respected peer, a friend even. Now there existed a vastness between them she could not breech. She felt changed, different, unjointed.

All because of one ill mannered, strangely handsome, dwarf.

Or was it? She mused, considering the growing unease she'd largely ignored over the past decade as she'd combated a seemingly endless population of giant spiders and other foul things. Her heart had been troubled long before the arrival of Thorin Oakenshield and his way ward kin, she admitted, though their meeting seemed a catalyst. Not merely for her, but for many things, it had merely caught her up in its wake and she seemed powerless to break free.

Tauriel groaned in relief when she was at last free of all but her cotton under things, which were matted with sweat and the odd splattering of goblin and orc blood. She had never been so weary or so distraught. She longed for sleep as, being an Elf, she so rarely did. She envied the humans and dwarves in their respective camps that were able to find peace and rest where she could not. Among her kind she was not considered _old_ by any means, a mere six hundred years to match the thousands her king had seen, but this night, under the unfamiliar weight of war, she felt _old_.

Someone, Valar bless them, had left her warmed water and towels as well as fresh night robes. Taking up a soft cloth and wetting it in the tepid water, she began the process of washing blood from her face and body. She longed for a true bath, in the underground hot springs of Mirkwood, where she could scrub the filth of battle from herself but took comfort, at least, in the small amenities her situation allowed. When she was finished, all of the towels near black, she slipped out of her under things and drew the silk robes over her chilled frame. She then meticulously loosed her hair of its battle braids and took up a comb.

She had just begun to navigate the tangles of her hair when a soft voice called her name from just outside her tent.

"Yes?" She called and a familiar face peered at her from a partially raised tent flap. Tauriel attempted a smile though even she knew it wavered.

"Hello Luríena,_"_ she said as kindly as her present mood allowed. The young elf maiden smiled in kind and stepped noiselessly into her tent. She wore a fine lawn gown with her lovely, long brown hair braided and fastened at her neck. Only the blood stained smock she wore over her gown told of her time in the healer's tent.

"I came to assure myself that you are well," Luríena said and took her comb from her before Tauriel could protest. She was well practiced at brushing Taurile's hair, as she had done it many, many times when they were children, and did so with a gentle touch that she herself could never manage. She had never been soft or sweet, not like Luríena, she'd always been tough and brash. As children they had played endlessly, Luríena always the beautiful princess and Tauriel her gallant rescuer wielding a fearsome sword derived from a wooden branch. Her friend was sweet and kind where Tauriel was reckless and opinionated, always getting into trouble and exasperating her caretakers. Tauriel seemed born toward violence where Luríena seemed created by the Valar specifically to heal and bring peace. The healing she'd done for Kíli's arrow wound had come only as a half knowledge from Luríena, otherwise she would have known nothing at all. Death seemed all she was capable of…

"You are troubled my friend," Luríena murmured, her thin fingers gentle against her scalp, soothing and kind.

Tauriel's eyes closed under her ministrations and she frowned slightly, "There is much to be troubled about, these past days have been dark indeed."

"Yes," her friend said with true sorrow in her musical voice, "Many of our friends and kin died and more still suffer, but there is a different worry that troubles you Tauriel, you cannot hide it from me. You do not seem yourself."

Tauriel tensed and only the faint sound of the comb dragging through her long fiery hair filled a pressing silence. She knew not what to say as she could hardly form her thoughts together they were so disoriented.

"I-" she stopped, hesitating further, "I feel…. lost, nothing seems clear to me any longer…"

She trailed off. She rarely expressed her emotions to others, long viewing it as a mark of weakness; a leader was supposed to be fearless and driven, not frightened and listless. Luríena's hands stilled their attentions and came to rest lightly on her shoulders, "You have been through much over the past weeks, more than I can likely imagine, perhaps… perhaps you are only weary and require the peace of home."

Tauriel sighed, thinking of home with a mixture of longing and disdain. She missed the comforts provided but not the cost at which they came. Now, caught up in the world outside, she was reluctant to return to close rooms and tightly shut gates. There was so much to see, to do, to become.

"Perhaps…" she said vaguely, opening her eyes to watch the lantern light cast warmth over pale tent walls.

Luríena squeezed her shoulders gently before methodically braiding sections of her hair in the manner she preferred, "Take heart my friend, the darkness has passed and the enemy lies defeated, peace will return to these lands."

A feeling of disquiet washed over her as her friend spoke, and a chill crept up her spine like the malicious slinking of a spider over its web. "Has it? Has it passed?" She asked, more to herself than Luríena, whom had set the comb aside and now stood before her, studying her with deep blue eyes brimming with affection and concern.

"Or is this merely the first of many battles, the first taste of a coming storm. Perhaps the darkness never truly left us at all."

* * *

**T**he following morning, Tauriel led a detail of elves through the battlefield to gather the remainder of those whom had fallen. To her surprise, Legolas accompanied them.

"I was sure you'd be caught in meetings and important political deliberations," she said to him as she motioned one of the other elves toward a pile of goblin corpses. Legolas grimaced. He wore no armor today, only his simple hunting gear in muted tones of green and brown with his knives at his back and bow slung over his shoulder. Others, men and dwarves picked their way through the carnage with the same dismal purpose.

"That was indeed my intended fate but my father took pity and felt it might bolster moral to have me out here helping as I may… that it might ease any pain or grief." His face was somber and his gaze flighty.

Tauriel surveyed the vast destruction, the Lonely Mountain looming over them and the shattered Gate of Erebor a gaping wound in the mountainside. Even she, an elf maiden, felt a certain reverence in the mountain's shadow, grasping a sense of its former grandeur and all that was lost. She had never seen Erebor at the height of its formidable glory, nor at any time since, and she felt a pang that it might never meet such grandeur again. Which, as was wont to happen of late, led her to think of Kíli. He would be King of this ruined, desecrated kingdom. She could not imagine the weight of such a burden and her heart ached for him terribly.

In a manner very unlike herself, she longed to see him. To look upon his face and offer what words of comfort she could.

"Captain!" one of the guards called suddenly, drawing her attention. She turned, recognizing her caller as Estolion, one of her company, and she and Legolas hurried toward him.

He was standing over a broken body that bore a familiar face and a soft moan of sorrow escaped her before she could subdue it. Legolas braced a comforting hand on her shoulder as they knelt.

"Káltheon," she said quietly, and reached out to close the dead elf's vacant eyes, reflecting briefly on his training, which she had once seen to personally. He had been an apt and willing pupil, one of her favorites, in fact. He would not have died easily, and that brought her some measure of comfort.

"He should not have died in such a place," Estolion said with a voice coated in grief and anger. He was a young elf, barely of age, and his fair face was pale, his dark hair unkempt and lank. War had a heavy price for those unsuited for it and few had the bearings to withstand its casualties.

"No," Legolas said, "He should not have. But he died in protection of our lands and our people, his death was noble and honorable. He would not wish us to morn his passing."

They passed another moment in respectful silence, a chill breeze carrying the ill scents of dead and carnage like a morbid perfume. She longed to be free of the place.

"Gather a cart for him," Tauriel said at last, "Tonight we will say our final farewells to he and all the others who fell. He is at peace now, Estolion, in the lands of our fathers across the sea. Take heart, we've a long day of grim work ahead of us." Her voice was stern and the elf seemed to rally himself. Tauriel was proud of him and she and Legolas watched him hurry off to fetch a cart as she'd commanded.

"They mean to burry Thorin and his nephew tomorrow evening," Legolas said quietly as they moved on, shifting and over turning goblin corpses as they went. Tauriel examined a fine knife pulled from the maw of a Warg and found it hard to meet his eye. His tone was carefully neutral. "Deep within the caverns of Erebor, we're told, my father and the man Bard from Lake Town have been granted attendance."

"What of the matter concerning Kíli and Chieftain Dáin?" She asked, unable to help herself. She was near desperate for information.

Legolas clinched his jaw and kicked idly at a crude sword, obviously of goblin make, "It is still undecided, Kíli refuses to discuss the matter until after his Uncle and brother are laid to rest." His tone indicated he thought this foolish and her temper prickled. Why did he always feel inclined to be so harsh toward them? -she wondered, before remembering that, not so long ago, she had felt very much the same.

"Surely the matter could wait till then. After all, they were his family, he should be allowed a grieving period-" She reasoned, voice heated before he interrupted.

"If he truly wishes to be King he will have to set aside all personal matters. The dwarves of the Ironhills and the men of Lake Town grow impatient over the treasure horde within. They have sustained heavy damages, as have we, many of which might have been avoided if Thorin had not-"

Tauriel gasped in outrage," You cannot mean to blame this battle on Kíli and their company, can you? That was an evil long in the planning, Legolas, anyone can see that. Though made easier by the death of Smaug, it certainly was not the cause."

Legolas shook his head at her, anger in his lovely eyes, "You are so quick to defend them Tauriel. Tell me, would any of this have come to pass if it were not for the greed of Thorin Oakenshield as his kin? A greed which, no matter what you might say, his nephew is destined to inherit."

Tauriel threw her hands up in exasperation, "Who is to say they would not have taken the human town and then dared to breech our kingdom with no dwarven involvement what so ever? Our walls are strong, Legolas, but our hold over the forest has grown weak. It is not the Greenwood of old-"

Legolas was suddenly just before her, his face so close she was forced to tilt hers back to see him properly. Her breath caught. "Whatever is between you and that dwarven _child_ Tauriel, it cannot be," he said at a fierce whisper. He held her gaze, his eyes passionate and dark, and they drifted toward her mouth in a manner with which Tauriel was familiar. With a shock, she withdrew from him as though wounded.

Berating herself for her words and actions, she did the only thing she could think to do. She denied them.

"I feel nothing for a dwarf, child or otherwise," she said, her back turned to him as she attempted to regain herself. "I merely grow tired of laying blame on others and keeping none for ourselves. Long have we seen signs of a darkness and danger from Dol Guldur and long have we done _nothing_. And that is not even revisiting the day Smaug took this thrice forsaken mountain and our people arrived only to turn our backs on the suffering of both Dale and Erebor. Are we not equally to blame for this atrocity in recompense for our own indifference?"

She did not realize she was crying till she turned toward Legolas and saw the bewildered disbelief on his face and quickly turned away again. She did not see the look of hopeless longing in his eyes, nor hear his call for reconcile because a messenger arrived just as he opened his mouth to speak. The elf bowed low to them both.

"King Thranduil requests you attend to him, my Prince." He paused as Tauriel turned to face him, his expression was guarded, "You as well, Captain."

She and Legolas exchanged glances and she felt the gap between them growing with each passing second.

"Of course," she told the messenger, quickly wiping away her tears, her voice emotionless, "Whatever my King commands."


	3. The Burial of Thorin Oakenshield

**A/N: **There were few complaints about the lack of Kili last chapter, which I totally understand, because I love him too, but fear not, he stars heavily in this one. Enjoy this bit of fluff and drama as we will at last find the plot in the following chapter (hurray!).

A special shout out to Arkana2 who did me the supreme honor of translating this into German. And sorry Arkana... but this chapter is even longer ;). Thank you times a bazillion for all of the reviews everyone, you keep the muse alive and the writing confidence up. Please, if any of you find discrepancies within this fic, let me know. Some may have been intentional but others might have stemmed from pure ignorance.

* * *

**The Heir Apparent**

**Chapter Three: The Burial of Thorin Oakenshield**

And if the night is burning  
I will cover my eyes  
For if the dark returns  
Then my brothers will die  
And as the sky is falling down  
It crashed into this lonely town  
And with that shadow upon the ground  
I hear my people screaming out.

-I See Fire, Ed Sheeran

* * *

**T**auriel's parents were returning from an extended stay in Loríen when the Orc party attacked. Only her mother's body had been recovered and it was so mutilated she had not been allowed to see it. Her mother had been a fiery, intelligent She-Elf with a quick tongue but a kind heart, and a prominent political figure among their people. Her father had been an accomplished fighter but his true passion had come from reading and study. She'd been very young, not yet mature by Elven standards, when word had reached them of the attack, and their loss had nearly killed her.

When her parents had departed on their trip without her, Tauriel had been furious, even refusing to come down from her room to see them off. It was something she would come to regret her entire life and would haunt her dreams for many long years to come.

When she had faded to near death, the King Thranduil himself had come to her bedside. He'd drawn her back toward light and life with warmth and song. He had given her a reason to live. He had given her dreams and hopes of revenge.

She had then been put under the care of the Watch Warden and, in part, the Prince Legolas. Allowing her to grown and learn almost as one of the family. But she had never forgotten the horror of her parent's death, nor of the creatures responsible. She'd dedicated her life, her existence, to her weapon's craft, becoming the best hand with a sword by the time she was allowed to enter the Royal Guard and second only to Legolas himself in bow craft. But it was not enough.

Prior to her induction as Captain of the Guard, Tauriel had gone on a mission of retribution under the guise of a hunting trip. Only Legolas had been suspicious. The Prince had followed her through the forests to the base of the Grey Mountains where she had received word that a large encampment of Orcs had been spotted.

As she'd camped her last night in the forest, intent on seeking her revenge the following morning, the Elven Prince had stepped out of the shadows silently to sit at her fire. Tauriel had not been surprised. She'd suspected he might follow her as he knew her moods and temperament better than any other.

She'd merely handed him a share of the roasted rabbit and a portion of her wine.

"This will not be the end of it, Tauriel," he had said after a silent span, "Whether you slay this Orc party or not there will be more, there will always be more."

Tauriel had said nothing; she'd merely glared into the fire, refusing to be dissuaded. How could he understand? The Orcs had taken everything from her, they had left her without a family, they had stolen all her hopes and cares and left nothing but a shell fused by bitterness and violence.

"Tauriel," Legolas had said her name in a tone that demanded her attention, a tone that told her he was speaking to her not as her friend and mentor, but as her Prince. "If you continue down this path of retaliation you will lose yourself in it. This _hunger_ in you will never be satisfied and eventually you will become a creature barely recognizable, even to yourself. You can hunt and kill every Orc in Middle-Earth but it will not return your parents to you."

Furious, Tauriel had risen to her feet, tossing her wine skin into the flames, "What would you know of my pain!" she'd cried. "We hide in our forest as those vile creatures roam these lands and do _nothing_. I will kill every Orc that comes within a league of these woods. I will show them the same mercy they showed my mother."

Tauriel had taken up her sword and bow and raced into the night without another word or thought. Fury and anger had driven her to rashness, years of pent bitterness adding speed to her every step.

She'd found the Orc party easily enough and she had taken them by clear surprise. They were only fifteen in total but she had not been herself, she had not been thinking clearly. She had slain half of them when she'd taken a blow to her thigh, knocking her flat and sending her toward unconsciousness. Only Legolas's intervention had saved her. With little effort he'd killed the remainder of the Orcs and was at her side before she had truly comprehended he was there at all.

Surrounded by the rank bodies of her victims, Tauriel had broken down into graceless, agonizing sobs. Legolas had taken her into his arms and held her gently all through the long night, whispering soft words of comfort, forgiveness and understanding. Later, when she had fallen into an exhausted, meditative state, he had tended to her wounds. The following day they'd returned home and Legolas had told his father, the King, she had sustained the injury during a hunting accident.

Neither of them ever spoke of the Orcs again and Tauriel had let the vengeance in her heart die. She'd finally allowed her parents to rest peacefully, knowing they had forgiven her for her anger that fateful day and would want her to live a life full of happiness and harmony, not of anger and violence. She had dedicated her life from that moment on to protecting that peace, to protecting her people.

Now, beneath the fading light of a familiar sky, as the first stars flickered into existence, she felt a touch of that bitterness again. She had taken a moment alone among the scattered rocks of the mountain, having just seen to the final preparations of the mass funeral that was soon to take place in the glade nearby, and she could not help the thoughts of vengeance. So many of her people had died, so many she had been unable to save. Just like her parents all those hundreds of years before. Under the weight of so many lost, she felt as helpless as she had the day she'd been told of their deaths.

"I did not think a Dwarf could surprise an Elf," said a low voice that seemed fate driven and Tauriel turned toward the one person she _had_ managed to save. The shroud of self pity and doubt lifted so quickly, it left her dazed.

He stood among the stones in the fading sunlight dressed in shades of deep blue and silver. His hair and beard had been combed and trimmed with bright gems and beads, like captured stars, braided into his inky mantle. She wondered idly who would have had such an honor, as she knew the braiding of another's hair was considered an act of intimacy among his people, with his Uncle and brother gone, but pushed the dismal thought aside.

Kíli looked more himself today, though there remained a hollowness in his gaze that had not been present upon their first meeting. But his face had more color and the smile he gave her, while small, was sincere. It lifted her heart and she returned his smile with a soft one of her own. Of all those she had not managed to save, she would thank the Valar every day of her long life that she had managed to save the dwarf man before her.

"And who says I am surprised?" She countered, though in truth she had not heard him approach.

He smirked a bit and came to stand beside her, walking with his hand idly on the hilt of a sword she recognized. He must have sensed the direction of her gaze for he said, in a hard voice, "Yes, I have been given his sword. Though I protested… greatly, but it seems very few care what I want."

He paused, looking into the falling night with bitterness, "It ought to be buried with him. It is not a sword I am worthy to carry."

Standing he came to just under her chin, but something about him, today especially, made her feel oddly small in comparison. Like most dwarves he was stocky, though not nearly as much as many of his kinsmen, with broad shoulders, wide hands and large feet. No, there was nothing small or weak about Kíli, she realized.

"Do you not think your Uncle would want you to have it?" she asked tentatively, not at all sure what to say to him. She had longed to see him, yes, but she had not expected to, especially here, and found she knew not how to act.

He glanced at her and there was a newly gained oldness in his countenance that tugged at her heart, "I am not sure what my Uncle would have wanted, he was not himself… toward the end. Though I believe he reclaimed much of his honor before… well," he trailed off, looking away from her.

"Kíli," she said and hesitantly placed her hand on his shoulder, "You cannot carry the weight of the dead, believe me when I say it is a fruitless and endless endeavor."

He tensed and Tauriel thought he might shrug off her words as well as her touch, but he surprised her by placing one of his calloused hands over hers and squeezing her fingers tenderly. Tauriel had never felt particularly delicate or fragile among her own kind, but seeing his large hand covering hers, she felt oddly… feminine.

He was silent for a long moment but she could tell he was working himself up to saying something and she knew what it would be before he finally said it.

"I don't want to be King, Tauriel," he said quietly but with a gruff harshness that she understood was meant to cover the truth of his vulnerability. "I was not raised to ever inherit. I spent all my life in exile, working odd jobs to support my mother, following after Fíli," he nearly choked on the name, and angled his face from hers. "As much as I wanted to go on this quest, I never actually considered what it would mean for me if we actually succeeded. I know I was born a Prince, but unlike my Uncle, I never felt like royalty... I never considered myself much of anything really. I never gave any real thought to my future. I only ever wanted to support my Uncle and brother, to be of some use to those far greater than I."

He turned again toward her and she saw the unshed tears in his eyes, "Tauriel, I know nothing of ruling. I would give Erebor to Chieftain Dáin, he is a legend among dwarves and would rule my people with dignity and fairness. But Balin and the others would be heartbroken; they claim they would not follow him, that none of those in Ered Luin would."

He seemed at an utter loss, his expression dismal and his shoulders slumped in defeat. She turned her hand in his and gripped it tight, speaking before she gave real thought to what she was saying. "Many of us are placed in situations we are not prepared for, Kíli, that does not mean we cannot fill them adequately. You have the blood of Kings in your veins, and your humility might save you and your people from the mistakes of your pasts, the mistakes of your forefathers. Who is not to say you might aid in returning the dwarves to their former glory?" She offered him a smile, though she knew neither the brightness of it, nor the way it lifted the dwarf's heart and gave him courage. "I see in you the makings of a great King if you will but have the courage to try. I know you would make your Uncle… and brother, proud."

His eyes shone at her words and his fingers threaded through hers. Her heart was loud in her ears and her stomach trembled as they stared deeply into one another's eyes. She faintly understood what was happening to her but another, more rational part of her cried out against it. Elves bonded but once in their lives, and theirs was a bond that could never be.

Her rescue came as a horn call from across the field and she looked up in alarm at the darkness of the sky. She gently disentangled her hand from his.

"I-I must go," she said, stepping awkwardly away from him, the spell between them broken. He smiled a little, lowering the hand she had held slowly, and bowed to her.

"Of course. I am sorry for the loss of so many of your people, I wish there was something I could to honor them."

Touched, she said, "You would honor them by not allowing their deaths to be in vain."

He tilted his head, obviously puzzled, and she expanded, "Rebuild your kingdom and show friendship toward my people. Heal the wounds of the past and help in the protection of these lands."

He considered this for a brief moment, then bowed again, lower this time and there was odd air of regal formality about him, "If King Under the Mountain I am destined to be, then I swear to you, Tauriel of the Woodland realm, I will endeavor to cultivate a lasting friendship with your people and I will honor those who have fallen here in defense of my kingdom."

She offered him a bow she typically would have reserved for her own King, and refused to consider what such an action implied. When they had both risen they exchanged another long, lingering look, filled with unspoken feelings and barely acknowledged longing. She gave him one last, tentative smile, and then departed quickly. Neither of them noticed the gaze of a certain Elven Prince who had come in search of his wayward Captain.

* * *

**T**he following morning Tauriel oversaw the breakdown of their camp. The company of elves, whom were usually organized and well mannered, seemed to Tauriel a chaotic mass of ill tempered elflings incapable of following even the simplest of orders.

"No Várin, you may not demand that the humans provide you with a horse. They have few enough as it is and you are perfectly capable of walking," she told one particularly grumpy warrior who then left her, grumbling irritably under his breath. Tauriel couldn't help but let out an exasperated huff of her own.

Luríena, who stood at her side directing the other healers on where to place specific herbs in their packs, chuckled. "Just think," she said, "soon we will be back at home where at least you can yell at them in the comfort of our own halls."

Tauriel smirked, placing her hands on her hips, "If they behaved like this at home I would have each and every one of them imprisoned. And I would take away all their combs and mirrors."

"Careful, if our male counterparts were unable to primp themselves every few hours they might fade away. Besides, I'm not certain we have enough cells."

"I never said they would be comfortable, I'd stack them one atop the other until they learned their lessons. In fact, the more I think on it, the better it sounds."

The other elf laughed brightly and stretched her back wearily, "You seem better today," she commented, "More yourself, I am glad."

Tauriel flushed a bit, "Yes well, perhaps you are right. With the prospect of being home in my own bed on the horizon, it is hard not to feel cheery." She was not certain this was, in fact the reason, but Luríena was right, she did feel more herself. She also refused to consider it had anything to do with her encountering a certain dwarf prince.

Her friend nodded, sniffing at a bit of lavender before slipping into a small slot in her belt.

"You are to attend the king tonight for the burial of the dwarf lords, aren't you?"

Tauriel cringed. She had been trying not to think on it. "Yes, later this afternoon."

"I am somewhat jealous," said her friend, and Tauriel looked at her in shock. "Not about the funeral part, but that you will get to see inside of Erebor. It is supposed to be a great wonder to behold."

"From what I understand it is in near ruin," added Yurlióne, one of the other healers, his pale faced pinched with weariness.

"Still," Luríena said with a wistful sigh, "You must tell me all about it Tauriel."

Tauriel couldn't help but smile at her friends interest, finding she too was looking forward to seeing inside the great dwarven halls.

They worked well into the morning, only stopping for a short meal at midday before preparing the last of the carts and ensuring everyone had properly folded and packed their tents –which was a feat unto and of itself as many of her men thought piling a crumpled mess to the backs of the mounts was acceptable. As the afternoon progressed, Tauriel grew more and more nervous. She both did and did not wish to see Kíli again. She knew the funeral would be deeply painful for him, a pain she did not want to witness if only for the fact that, with her King and Prince present, she would not be able to offer him any means of comfort. But also because each time she saw him, her thoughts and feelings became more confused and frightening. If anything, she only longed for home so that she might escape the emotions he invoked within her.

Before she knew it, however, the moment had arrived. Dressed in her armor of light steel, which one of her subordinates had polished to a high shine for her, she awaited her King and his son outside their tent, which was the only one that remained. Several other elves stood near her, though they didn't speak to her and talked quietly amongst themselves. They were to pack their lords possessions in his absence and then they would all catch the main procession as they headed toward home after they had paid their respects.

Tauriel gripped the hilt of her sword tightly, attempting to contain her nerves. Moments later Thranduil and Legolas excited the tent, also dressed in freshly cleaned armor, and, with three more guards in toe, they headed for the Gate of Erebor.

Tauriel walked behind her King and Prince as Legolas leaned slightly to one side and said to his father in a hushed tone, "Do you believe he will accept it?"

Thranduil inclined his head slightly, though she could not read his expression, "I believe he will, yes."

"And Chieftain Dáin is aware?"

"Aware yes, but in agreement he is not. He believes our little test will backfire but I have a plan which will ensure the outcome is in our favor."

Their conversation was halted as they neared the ruined Gate and a party of heavily armored dwarves met them in the shadows of headless, disembodied statues. The half a dozen dwarves did little to hide their distaste and spoke only to one another in their harsh sounding tongue. Tauriel, for her part, ignored them; she was too busy contemplating the overheard conversation with a sinking feeling of dread. She knew Thranduil did not want Kíli to become King Under the Mountain but she had not suspected he might go to lengths to ensure he did not.

These worries were momentarily forgotten as they entered the ancient halls of Erebor. Tauriel could not help but stare in absolute wonder. Pillars, so high they disappeared into the darkness above, rose all around them. Gold glimmered in periodic rings around each pillar and even along the very floor itself in geometric patterns. Distant bridges and walkways rose about them, and many doors, leading to other chambers, appeared every few yards or so.

"Tauriel," Legolas whispered tersely, drawing her back to herself and she flushed as she realized she had fallen behind. She glanced briefly at one of their dwarf escorts to find him looking at her with a mixture of pride and respect. She offered him a small smile and a slight bob of her head before increasing her pace to catch up. They turned down several equally impressive halls, before at last reaching the ruined throne room.

If Tauriel had thought the main hall was impressive, it was nothing compared to the throne room itself. Though debris littered the pathways and many of the columns had fallen, it was a wonderful masterpiece of architecture. The Throne was molded from a pure golden vein that protruded from the ceiling above and had been crafted beautifully into a massive chair inlaid with many jewels. Even from their distance she could see the hollow place where the legendary Arkenstone had once rested.

Standing before the throne, below a short set of stairs, a company of dwarves awaited them. Most of whom Tauriel recognized. Kíli, Dáin, Balin and Dwalin stood at the forefront. As they approached Kíli's eyes immediately drifted to hers, though she stood behind her King and Prince.

He looked much as he had the night before, though he now wore a fine velvet robe edged in fur and a gold and silver circlet, not the crown of the King, over his fair brow. He looked handsome and regal indeed and she flushed, breaking their gaze and hoping none had noticed.

"King Thranduil of the Woodland realm," said Balin in greeting, bowing low, "We welcome you to the reclaimed halls of Erebor."

There was a tense silence before Balin nudged Kíli with his elbow. The dwarf Prince started a little and then bowed reluctantly in his turn, murmuring his own set of welcomes, followed by the Chieftain Dáin whom looked just as fierce and unpleasant as the last time she had seen him. It was not lost on Tauriel, who cut her own bow, that Thranduil and Legolas merely offered vague inclinations of their golden heads. She had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. _Men_, she internally complained.

Pleasantries aside, if they could even be called that, Balin directed them away from the throne and down a partially ruined walkway. Aware of her duty, she kept her hand on her sword and a wary eye on the shadows. They walked in silence. Of the Dwarves, only Balin seemed inclined to speak to them, talking politely to the King and Legolas whom offered only clipped responses of their own. Otherwise the dwarves talked only amongst themselves in low voices. They used their deeply secretive native tongue and Tauriel wondered if even Thranduil knew what they said.

As they passed through magnificent halls and rooms, some, like a smithy or a meeting chamber, were easily identifiable others, like a massive room with strange copper and gold machinery, remained a mystery. Before long, however, she found herself staring at the back of Kíli's head, who, with Dwalin, led their group into the bowels of the mountain. She wondered at what he might be feeling, what he might be thinking, as they passed through the ancient halls of his ancestors, and she ached to speak to him, to offer him comfort.

Instead she reverted to old habits and thinking, tactically considering, if they were attacked, how they might escape, and kept track of every turn they made with forced attention.

At last, they reached the catacombs which were set behind a massive iron, silver and gold door marked with runes and pictures she couldn't begin to decipher. Together, Kíli, Dwalin, Balin and two others from their original party, pushed against the doors until they opened.

They filed into the long tunnel, which rose at least two yards above her head, and she stepped protectively ahead of her King with the other guards taking position directly behind. Legolas walked at her side, eyes wary. On either side, coffins of stone, gold, silver, marble and all manner of other stones and metals had been set into enclaves with runes marking each. She glanced at them briefly, marveling at the details of several. Elves burned their dead so the concept of elaborate burial chambers or containers was foreign to her.

When they reached the end of the main tunnel, torches were lit and dispersed and they walked on for a spell before they reached another set of doors. These, made of what could only be mithril, gleamed star like in the light of the massive fire which had been lit from within.

"This, in the common tongue, is the Chamber of Fallen Kings," said Balin in poignant reverence.

They entered, and all the dwarves fell silent. They slowly approached twin coffins of gold that rose on a specially raised dais at the center of the room. Similar daises rose about the great cavern which was filled with many statues of precious metals and weapons of fine make. Tauriel considered that the only reason such treasures remained was because the catacombs were two small for Smaug to enter and claim, for which she was glad. This was a sacred place.

Their party progressed up the stone steps until at last they stood above the open caskets. Tauriel's throat tightened as she looked down upon the bedecked bodies of Thorin Oakenshield and his young nephew. Both wore brilliant mithril armor and fine, jeweled crowns. Flowers, blue and white, had been laid around them and their hair shone with beads and gems. Fíli held a battered sword that had obviously seen long years of use, and Thorin held a shining axe.

"Here, lies Thorin, son of Thrain, King Under the Mountain," whispered Balin roughly with Kíli standing resolutely at his side as unabashed tears fell on his stoic face, "And Fíli, son of Fínor, Prince of Erebor and the Heir Apparent. May Mahal guide them both into the halls of their fathers and may they find peace at last."

The dwarves bowed their heads in silent reverence and grief. Tauriel followed suit, caught by the same emotions, though she suspected she was the only elf to do so.

Following a long moment of respectful silence, Thranduil stepped forward at last, saying, "I would offer you, Kíli, son of Fínor, he who would be King Under the Mountain, this," he pulled a wonderfully glowing gem from within his robes and the dwarves gasped collectively in awe, their eyes glittering, "As a token of friendship and respect for those whom you have lost."

Her King bowed low but Tauriel caught a glimpse of his sneering smile and her blood went cold. This, she realized, was what he and Legolas had been discussing outside the Gate. They meant to show the dwarves that Kíli was, in fact, taken by the same gold lust as his forefathers, proving he was unfit to rule. She shuddered and resisted the urge to knock the stone from her King's hand and anger welled within her.

Her heart sank further as Kíli, his eyes wide and the gem's light casting a white light over his features, stepped forward with an outstretched hand. With only a brief hesitation, he took the stone and beheld it, saying in a breathless voice, "The Arkenstone…"

Tauriel wanted to cry out to him, beg him not to take it, to think of the mistakes his Uncle had made and those who had come before. But she could only watch in despair as he fell neatly into the trap her King and Prince had lain.

* * *

**A/N: **Dun dun duuuuuuuuuuuuuuh!

Yeah, I know, I'm terrible. Cliiifffff hanger anyone?


	4. Parting of Ways

**A/N: **I am just blown away by all the support and love this story has gotten. I can only hope I don't disappoint in the chapters to come. I would apologize for the cliffhanger buuuut… well, you'll see. :D Every chapter following the first has been for you, oh wonderful readers, reviewers and favoriters, and are likewise dedicated to you. And for all those I have managed to convert to Kíli/Tauriel… sorry I'm not sorry. ;)

**Disclaimer: **I own neither the works of Tolkien nor the films of Peter Jackson.

* * *

**The Heir Apparent **

**Chapter Four: The Parting of Ways**

_"So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."  
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring_

* * *

**T**he large tomb was as silent as its namesake, the living occupants within holding their collective breaths as Kíli stared into the glittering Arkenstone with blatant wonder. The faces around him ranged from awe and satisfaction to condemning disdain. Tauriel felt sick, her stomach coiling and tightening into dread filled knots as she questioned whether she had misjudged the young dwarven Prince entirely. Kíli's eyes glowed like sapphires who's depths were unfathomable, his fair face bathed in silvery light that was akin to the stars. His expression, however, was one filled with greed and ownership that clashed violently with the beauty he beheld.

The silence was broken by approaching footsteps and echoing voices. Alarmed, Tauriel and Legolas both turned with weapons drawn, he with taunt bow and she with her glimmering Elven blade. The dwarves followed suit. Shadows bounced and rebounded off stone walls from approaching torches which were long and seemed deeply menacing. Tauriel, convinced it was a wayward pack of Orcs, or worse, cursed the enclosed halls of dwarves just as the two figures came into view.

One bore a gnarled wooden staff, a pointed gray hat and was very tall, his silvery scarf shining softly in the fire light of the torch he held. Beside him walked a creature diminutive and child like in stature with a mop of tousled brown hair and bare feet that scraped lightly on the dusty floor. Legolas let out a puff of air in relief and relaxed his bow. Tauriel followed suit and sheathed her sword, internally trying to calm the rapid beat of her heart.

"Ho now," said Gandalf the Grey, known to her people as Mithrandir, "I am deeply sorry we are late. It seems we were not given the correct hour." Bearded and aged, the wizard stood at the base of the steps and he shot a knowing, condemning look at a suddenly discomfited Dáin of the IronHills.

Balin pressed forward, "We had wondered where you'd gone Gandalf."

The wizard moved up the steps, his long robes travel stained and his boots worn, with the nervous Halfling at his side. Tauriel had developed a sort of fondness for the small creature after he had brought her King the Arkenstone to appease tensions between their people and the dwarves in Erebor. He was a simple thing with a kind and courageous heart that she admired. She offered him the slightest of smiles as their eyes met and he seemed to relax somewhat, giving her a nervous smile in return.

"Not far my friends, not far," he placed a hand on the old dwarf's shoulder in stoic companionship then turned to bow before Thranduil . He said in Sindarin, "Greetings Lord Thranduil, I am gladdened though rather surprised to see you here."

The Elven King inclined his head in kind, "I am pleased you could make it, Mithrandir, I thought perhaps you and the Halfling had already left for his journey home."

Tauriel wondered if she were the only one who caught the slight twinkle in her King's eye or the not entirely forthcoming turn at the corner of his lips. She looked then to the Chieftain Dáin who had shifted imperceptibly behind two of his brethren as though hoping to be forgotten. Whatever plan the Dwarf Lord and Thranduil had concocted, they had not intended for the wizard to be present, that much was clear.

"I would not part before bidding Thorin and Fíli farewell," Gandalf said in the common tongue, "I had thought Bilbo and I might accompany you and your people home for a span."

Thranduil smiled graciously, "But of course, you and the Halfling are most welcome."

Gandalf nodded and the company parted so that he and the Hobbit might approach the tombs of their fallen friends.

"Ah Kíli, you've the Arkenstone I see," the wizard said, his tone light and unaffected, as though he were merely commenting on the weather or a stretch of particularly ordinary road. Tauriel, recalling the events proceeding Mithrandir's arrival, cringed and turned to face the dwarven prince with trepidation in her heart. Kíli alone had not moved forward at the wizard's arrival but instead stood resolutely over the body of his Uncle, the Arkenstone held in one hand, casting bright light over Thorin's lifeless features. There was a peace and beauty to the fallen King's countenance that he had not possessed in life and Tauriel felt a twinge of pity for all that the stubborn King had suffered, even those devices which had been of his making.

"Gandalf," Kíli whispered, and there was a sort of painful pleading in his voice. Tauriel noted the tension in his face and understood the war that must have been raging within him. She found her hope rekindled.

Gandalf came around the great golden coffin and stood at the Prince's side, placing a firm hand on his shoulder and looking with sorrow upon Thorin's form.

"He did not want you and your brother on this quest," Gandlaf said, as though the dwarf next to him were not pleading for salvation, his tone calm and soothing, "But I insisted that you two should come. You and Fíli reminded Thorin of his youth, of better times and his hopes for a brighter future. To him you two _were_ the future. I had hoped," he turned his gaze to meet Kíli's as everyone else stood in watchful silence, "That you and your brother might bring him back from the edge, curb the gold lust I knew lay dormant in his heart, and in the end, you did, Kíli. In the end his honor was restored."

Kíli looked away, tears fresh in his eyes and his gaze flickered from his Uncle's face to the Arkenstone. "Do not let him have died in vain," the wizard murmured so low she suspected only elven ears might have overheard.

The young dwarf let out a long, shuddering breath and, with a steady hand, placed the Arkenstone upon his uncle's still chest, covering the great gem with the fallen King's battered hands. Tauriel felt relief and pride fill her so fully and so quickly that she could not hide the bright smile that blooomed on her face, and it was she whom Kíli turned to when his tasked was completed. In the glow of her smile, the doubt in his heart was lifted.

"Now lad," Dáin said, emerging at last from behind his guard, "That is the emblem of your line, the greatest of all treasures in Erebor."

"Aye, lad," said Dwalin in agreement, though he shot Dáin a withering glare, "Thorin would want you to have it."

"Aye, Thorin would wish you to keep it," agreed another dwarf who was wider than he was tall with a very intricately braided red beard.

"Aye," agreed yet another of his kin and Tauriel resisted the urge to knock their stubborn dwarven heads together.

Gandalf, looking perturbed and as if he might wish to do some head knocking of his own, opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by another.

"My Uncle used to tell Fíli and I such wonderful tales of this place," Kíli said slowly, his voice wavering with sorrow, "He would fill our heads with stories of our people and our forefathers, of all they had built and made here beneath the mountain. But when he spoke of his grandfather, our great-grandfather… he would do so with grief. He would tell us that, when Erebor fell, Thrór's greatest concern was not for his people but for their treasure and most of all… for the Arkenstone. He would tell Fíli and I… that it had corrupted Thrór's heart and mind, leaving him but a shadow of himself. And in the end… it corrupted Thorin's also."

Kíli held them all in rapt attention and when he looked up to survey his kin, his tears had dried and there was a strength in him Tauriel had long perceived. It warmed her heart in a way little else ever had.

"I do not know if I am fit to be King Under the Mountain, but I will not curse myself or any of my line to such a fate. The stone will remain with my Uncle and brother in the halls of our forefathers until the end of days. When the Lonely Mountain itself comes crashing down around us and the stars fall from the sky."

There was a deeply prophetic tone to his words as they echoed through the vast room and a chill crept up Tauriel's spine.

The dwarves seemed subdued, their heads bowed in reverence, save for perhaps Dáin, who's face bore an ill disguised resentment but he remained silent. Tauriel glanced at Thranduil, who merely looked serene, to Legolas who seemed confused and rather surprised. She tried not to feel smug, and failed.

"Well," Gandalf said kindly, breaking the spell, "Let us say our final farewells and allow Thorin and Fíli their well deserved rest."

And so, with heavy hearts, the dwarves set to the task of covering their kinsmen beneath finely craven gold. Each of the dwarves paid their final respects, several of them weeping in loud unashamed abandoned which seemed outside their character but she could hardly begrudge them. The Hobbit also said his goodbyes with bright tears on his youthful face and when he had finished he stood crestfallen and withdrawn beside the wizard who set a comforting arm about him. Kíli was the last to bid his farewells as he kissed first the head of his Uncle, murmuring something in his own tongue, and then stood staring with a bottomless sorrow at the visage of his elder brother. His pain and loss were so acute Tauriel found she was unable to watch and tears welled in her eyes. She bowed her head until she heard the telling scrape of shifting metal and the soft clang as the tomb was sealed, the sound of which reverberated into the accompanying silence like the final lingering note of a tragic song.

"And so end the days of Thorin, King Under the Mountain. Goodbye, my friend" said Gandalf in a gruff whisper that was filled with sadness and regret.

* * *

**T**auriel welcomed the touch of sunlight like a healing balm as they at last stepped out from beneath the shadow of the mountain and into the winter wind. They walked through the remaining destruction of the great battle and Tauriel was grateful it was not she who would have to attend to its removal. Behind them trailed most of the dwarven company, though a few had stayed behind to quench the funeral fire and seal the ancient tombs. Gandalf and the Halfling walked side by side, the little Hobbit's face dismal and sad. All were silent. Near the ruins of Dale, Bard of Laketown awaited them with a company of rough looking men in toe. She wondered why he had not attended the funeral as well, but the man seemed ill at ease in the shadow the mountain and she thought perhaps he could not bear to step within. She could not blame him.

Bard bowed first to Thranduil and then to Kíli and Dáin, "I offer my sincerest condolences for your loss."

Kíli, his face stern said, "Thank you Bard, and we are sorry for the damage done to your town and for the loss of many human lives. I would offer you half the treasure of Erebor in recompense."

This response was met with astonishment and then outrage, specifically from his dwarven kin, whom he silenced with a hard stare that impressed even Tauriel. She had to marvel at the adaptability of the 'lesser' races at times as there was little sign of Kíli's previous hesitation or uncertainty.

Bard, for his part, was stunned and then deeply touched. "That is very generous of you… King Kíli," he bowed again, deeper this time and the Men around him followed suit. So much treasure would easily rebuild not only Laketown but Dale with much left over, she knew. She approved of the gesture whole-heartedly and knew it would go a long way in mending the ties between Man and Dwarf.

"We must depart now," Thranduil said airily, granting the human leader but a brief nod.

"I have a gift for you, my Lord," Kíli said as the Elven-king turned his back with Legolas and the other guards behind him.

Thranduil turned and raised a brow, a sardonic sort of smile on his face, "What, Master Dwarf? Do you intend to gift me the remaining half of the treasure? It will not remake the errors of your kinsmen nor return the dead amongst the living."

Kíli lifted his chin and drew from his cloak a magnificent emerald necklace that caught the faint winter sunlight like enchanted green fire. There was a chorus of indrawn breaths as they studied what could only be the famed necklace of Girion. Thranduil's eyes narrowed perceptively and he approached the stalwart dwarf imperiously.

"You offer me that which your Uncle denied, young dwarf, but for what intent? Seek you to placate ill deeds and harsh words with jewels and gifts?"

Kíli smirked and there was a challenging, mischievous glimmer in his eye, "I seek only to offer what should be given for services rendered, from one King… to another."

Thranduil scoffed a little and sneered, "Your Uncle allowed that which his grandfather suffered before him and you will be no different, Kíli son of Fínor, better that you let others rule the halls of your forefathers then allow them to fall once more into the hands of greed and deception."

There was an angry hiss from the dwarves at these words, and despite her misgivings on the matter, Tauriel took a protective step toward her King with her hand on her sword. But Kíli appeared unperturbed and held the necklace firmly between them as an unwavering peace offering.

"I made a promise, my Lord Elf, that I would endeavor to solicit a friendship between our two peoples, a promise that, being a dwarf, I am too stubborn to ignore... despite thinking better of it," Tauriel felt her face grow hot and her pulse quicken at his words, recalling all they had said the night before.

For the first time that day, Thranduil looked surprised, though his expression quickly turned to mistrust and apprehension. "To whom did you make such a lofty promise, master dwarf?"

Kíli's eyes did not stray from the Elven-king's as he spoke, saying, "To one whom I owe everything, my lord, least of all my life."

Tauriel did her best to compose her features into something akin to disinterest but inside a war waged between equal parts happiness, embarrassment and uncertainty. She could not bear to look at Legolas or the others for fear they would somehow know of whom he spoke. Thranduil, for his part, seemed unconvinced.

"Well, we shall see if your word is worth more than that of your forefather's. Though I have little doubt to the contrary," he said and turned his back, refusing to take the necklace himself and it was instead accepted by one of his guards. Legolas followed after his father without a word or a glance, not even to her. Tauriel cringed inwardly at the fury plastered on the other dwarves faces as she stepped after her King and Prince. If Kíli truly mean to kindle a friendship between their people he was in for a long hard battle. Dwarves were not known for being forgiving, or understanding. Neither, apparently, were Elves, despite all their lofty airs.

"My Lord Thranduil," Gandalf interceded quickly after they were several yards from the dwarves and humans, "might I have a private word?"

Her King looked like he wished to refuse, eager to be away from the mountain and its occupants no doubt, but said, "Certainly Mithrandir, we can speak of there under those hanging rocks." They stepped away, leaving the other elves awkwardly to one side, until they were out of even their keen earshot.

Tauriel turned back toward the ruins of Dale and realized suddenly that this might be the last time she ever saw the dwarves. One dwarf in particular. She saw that he was also turned toward her, a little apart from his obviously arguing brethren, and she could feel his eyes upon her.

She clenched her jaw and squared her shoulders as though she were about to head into a hard wind or perhaps a skirmish. With a steadying breath, she moved back up the rise.

"Tauriel," Legolas called after her sternly but she ignored him. Whatever she might have felt, she would not part from Kíli in such a manner. Her heart would not let her.

He met her halfway and they studied one another for a silent heartbeat.

"I'm sor-"

"Safe trav-"

They said simultaneously then stopped short, both offering small embarrassed smiles and flickering, uncertain glances. Once again, she knew not what to say to him.

He bowed sharply, his manner rather awkward, "My lady," he allowed.

She took a breath. "I... I just wanted to say how… proud I am of you. For your words and actions today, I can only imagine your pain and sorrow, but I wanted you to know that I believe your Uncle and brother would be proud too," she said haltingly feeling decidedly inelegant. Something about his presence made her feel like a gangly elfling, all long limbs and rash words.

His grief, held just beneath the surface, swam in his eyes for a raw moment before he forced it aside with a sigh. He offered her a shaky smile, "Thank you Tauriel, for everything. I owe you my life and much more besides. I only wish-" he hesitated, and rubbed anxiously at the back of his neck in a disarmingly sweet gesture, "I only wish we need not say goodbye." He met her gaze and held it, a question lingering there that was of yet, not entirely formed.

Tauriel felt a telling flutter in her stomach and a lightness of her heart that she could not deny, accompanied quickly by a responding sadness for everything she knew could not be.

"I-I wish the same… Kíli," she said his eyes softened then filled with something deeper, something that called to something similar within her. Her people revered song and light, and she felt that both lay between them, perhaps tentative and wavering, but real and bright.

"But, I'm afraid I must bid you farewell," she forced herself to say, though it pained her greatly to do so, and Kíli's face closed to her as she watched him set his own wishes and desires aside in perhaps the most Kingly display he'd shown all day. She had her people, her King, and he had his Kingdom and kin.

"I bid you safe travels… Tauriel," he bowed and she did the same, though everything within her cried out against it.

"Farewell, Kíli… I wish you all the happiness and strength of the Valar and hope that you will not forget your courage or might. I… I know I will not."

Their eyes met again and the silence was once more heavy with emotions that could not be voiced and actions they could not take. Tauriel had a suspicion that if she left him now, here in the shadows of the Lonely Mountain, she would regret it all her life. But what could she do? Her King, her Prince, her people would never accept him, and neither, she suspected, would his.

Tauriel broke their gaze when she could bear it no longer and, feeling more cowardly then she ever had prior, she fled from him before she could do something foolish like confess her feelings to him or, worse, kiss him before his kin and hers and all of Arda.

_I will not cry,_ she told herself as her eyes stung traitorously, _this is for the best. We can never be. Go home, forget, live on. He will marry one of his kin and his line will live on as it should. There is nothing for you here save sorrow and pain._

She reached Legolas's side, his body language disapproving and he would not look at her. For which, for once, she was grateful of despite the ocean of distance that lay between them. There was no one who could comfort her now, she knew, not this time. She kept her eyes on the horizon, toward home, until Thranduil and Gandalf parted at last. The wizard looked upset and he did not speak to them nor look their way, she noted, and watched as he moved toward the waiting dwarves and Hobbit. Frowning, she turned to her King who waited for them under the shadows of the hanging rocks, his hair and robes glinting in the sun.

As they neared him, her King caught her with a binding, piercing stare that sent a strange, portentous chill through her blood.

"Tauriel ," he said callously when they stood before him at last.

Confused, she bowed her head slightly, and said, "Yes my King?"

"I have just spoken with Mithrandir concerning our _relationship_ with the dwarves of Erebor. He insists that we maintain a stronger, closer knit bond and forgive the errors of the past, despite their enormity. It seems the old wizard believes we may have need of one another in the years to come," his speech was riddled with thinly veiled contempt and condescension. Tauriel was at a loss as he looked at her pointedly.

"So?" he questioned forcefully.

"I do not under-"

Her King narrowed his eyes and stepped closer to her in one swift, disarming movement, his fair face nearly overwhelming at such a slight distance. The light and shadows cast by thousands of years danced beneath the placid blue of his eyes, and within them he held many secrets taken from the days when Thingol and Melian had lived in Doriath, before the Great War and all he had lost. If she had felt old previous to this moment she felt now lifeless before him, an infant in the ancient majesty of his presence. She saw now that his distrust of the dwarves, while malicious seeming to her, was harbored from awful deeds, while long in the past, were no less terrible.

"Do you believe we ought to befriend this would-be-King and his wayward clan of exiles?" He asked her, so close she could feel his breath on her face and practically taste his displeasure.

Faced with his great knowledge and terrible memory, she nearly denied the affirmation in her heart. In his timeless gaze she was nearly taken by memories and deeds that were not her own but resounded through her like the great songs of the Valar, weaving through her entire being until she hummed with it. But then the smiling face of a young dwarf came to mind, followed by the gentle, yet strong pressure of his warm hand against hers and she closed her eyes in resignation.

"Yes my King, I believe that we should," she said, barely aware she spoke at all then opened her eyes once more.

There was a pause as Thranduil searched her gaze so deeply she thought he must have found every secret part of her heart, everything which she would have kept from him, laying her mind and heart bare before him. He jerked suddenly away and turned his back to her, leaving her shaken and dizzy. Legolas looked to her with a now familiar expression of hurt and betrayal and when her eyes met his, he turned aside in condemnation. _Valar_, she cried internally, _must I chose between the truth in my heart and the love of my family and people?_

"Then Tauriel, you shall remain here," Thranduil said ominously and Tauriel was stunned, staring at his stern, emotionless back in utter disbelief, "And serve as ambassador for our people in Erebor until such time as I deem necessary." He looked back over his shoulder at her, his eyes cold, calculating and uncaring, "You will report to me everything you learn and everything you see. I do not trust this King anymore than I trusted the last and I will not offer my friendship to a foolish child unfit to lead sheep much less a race of people." And so saying, he turned aside and departed. Legolas moved to follow after, turning to her for a brief moment with undisputed longing and pain, before he too, left her behind.

If Tauriel had felt torn prior to this moment she now felt split in half and lost did not even begin to describe the sudden derision of her heart. She felt as though she had been cast out and left bereft, and for the first time she truly appreciated the fact that Thranduil, though her King, was the closest thing she'd ever had to a father since the death of her own.

_Valar help me, _she prayed, but they too seemed to have forsaken her.

* * *

**A/N: **And you guys thought I forgot Gandalf and Bilbo, pish. ;)


	5. Of Elves and Dwarves

**A/N: **This is something of a filler chapter, sort of a break from all the 'drama,' which will pick up again in the next addition, I promise. I hope everyone enjoys more time spent with the dwarves and at last, some bonding (finally) with the elves. Also, a bit of Kíli/Tauriel fluff. Please enjoy and know that I read each and every review and they mean a great deal to me. I'm sorry I don't have time to reply to all of you, between work, child raising, and writing I have to do what I can . .

Just know that you all are wonderful and you keep the motivation alive and well!

* * *

**The Heir Apparent**

**Chapter Five: Of Elves and Dwarves**

* * *

_I remember tears streaming down your face  
When I said, "I'll never let you go"  
When all those shadows almost killed your light  
I remember you said, "Don't leave me here alone"  
But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight_

_ Just close your eyes  
The sun is going down  
You'll be alright  
No one can hurt you now  
Come morning light  
You and I'll be safe and sound_

_-Safe and Sound_

_By Taylor Swift (and the Civil Wars)_

* * *

**T**he dwarves hadn't the faintest clue what to do with her, that much was clear. One of the younger ones -Dori? Glori? Mori? - or something of that nature, was staring at her with owlish wonder. Dwalin, despite his previous gratitude toward her, was scowling at her with his thick arms crossed over his broad chest. Tauriel suspected scowling was his preferred means of expression and decided not to take it personally. Kíli, for his part, had attuned his more jovial self and was smiling broadly, obviously pleased she was there. The others ranged from blatant dislike to a wary understanding that was not nearly close enough to acceptance.

Tauriel felt unwanted, discarded, and very, _very_ tall.

"Well, I hadn't quite expected Thranduil to take my advice quite so… quickly, but I must say, I am glad you are here Tauriel," Gandalf said cheerily. His attempts at breaking the tension were kind if not blatantly obvious.

For her part, Tauriel was not sure how to feel. On the one hand she _was_ pleased to have the opportunity to spend more time with a certain dwarf lord; on the other hand she was in an unfamiliar land, with an unfamiliar people, surrounded by a largely hostile race. A big part of her was tempted to race after her King and beg him to let her come home with them, a smaller, insistent part of her however, thrilled at the change of scenery and the potential for adventure. Her people did not embrace change easily or welcomingly but despite the atmosphere, she was quietly excited. And also, she accepted, afraid.

"I am glad to be of service… to my King and people," she said politely. She focused on the encouraging smile of Kíli, whom still had grief lingering in his features but seemed more himself than he had the last few times they had met. She refused to believe, however, that it had anything to do with her.

"Yes well, I'm afraid Bilbo and I must depart," Gandalf said and Tauriel had to restrain herself from throwing herself at the wizard's feet and begging him to stay. His words _did_ have the effect of distracting the dwarves from her presence, however, as they each wished the sad Hobbit farewell. She watched as Kíli attempted to gift Bilbo a large share of the remaing treasure, which came to an extraordinary twenty cases of gold and jewels, but the tiny creature declined saying one chest would do him just fine, thank you very much. Tauriel's affection for him grew and she was sorry to see the amicable creature leave. In the end, Kíli and the others loaded the wizards cart with two overflowing chests and her heart was touched by their gratitude and fondness.

She stood to one side as the Halfling said his final goodbyes and listened as Gandalf spoke to the remainder of Thorin Oakenshield's company as they stood in the victorious shadow of their mountain home. Even Tauriel, for all that she was an Elf, was touched by the magnitude of the occasion, by all that they had suffered and all they had accomplished.

"Well, my friends, this is goodbye, for now," Gandalf said kindly, leaning on his staff with his great pointed hat casting a long shadow.

"What gift can we offer a wizard for his services?" Kíli asked, his voice filled with gratitude and a small hint of fear. Tauriel realized she was not the only one to dread the departure of Gandalf.

"The dragon Smaug is dead and the dwarves once more established in the halls of their father's, I can think of no greater gift than that, Kíli."

"There must be something Gandalf, we insist," Balin said, squaring his shoulders in the stubborn manner Tauriel had come to associate with all dwarves.

The wizard smiled a bit and glanced briefly her way before saying, "Very well, Master Balin, if you wish to repay me you will treat Tauriel as a guest and friend. She did, afterall, save the life of your King on more than one occasion."

Tauriel flushed and lifted her chin slightly to hide her embarrassment under a mask of serene pride as they all turned to look at her in surprise. Dwarves were not the only ones who could immolate strength and stubbornness, she told herself.

Balin looked uneasy, "Aye, we know well enough what we owe her, and her people, but it might be a wee bit harder to convince the others… the distrust runs rather deep."

Dwalin huffed, "Dwarves don't forget trespasses easily, Gandalf. The lass will have a hard time among us, especially as our kin from the north return. She'd be better off going home with the rest of her lot."

The young one, she really needed to figure out all their names, blinked at her, "I think she's lovely."

"Either way," Gandalf interrupted, "You asked what I wanted in payment, and Tauriel's acceptance is what I'm asking."

Kíli stepped forward at that, meeting the wizard's eye, "And you shall have it Gandalf. You have my word that I and my company will do all that we can to make Tauriel feel welcome here."

Gandalf smiled and placed his hand on the young dwarf's shoulder, "You did well today Kíli, very well, I'll try to return in time for your coronation, if I can. And don't be too hard on Dáin, he means well."

One of the dwarves, whom wore an interestingly twisted hat and had been present in Laketown as she healed Kíli, huffed angrily, "Rotten ol' bastard, mighty keen on the throne, he is."

"Over my dead body!" cried one of the others who possessed a very long, red beard and a giant axe.

"Now now," Gandlaf said, fluttering his hands as though he were shushing a batch of unruly children, "You owe Chieftain Dáin a great deal for his help during the battle, I'm sure you'll find a way to repay and placate him."

This was received with grunts of dissatisfaction and reluctant grumbles. Tauriel found herself smiling at their antics.

"Farewell, my fine dwarves, I shall see you when I may," the wizard said and left them with a parting smile and bow, which all of the dwarves returned, several wiping stray tears from their eyes.

Gandalf turned to Tauriel and motioned her with one slight jerk of his head to meet with him aside the cart. She obliged, feeling oddly self conscious, and found his smile to be apologetic.

"I knew Thranduil would select you," he confided to her in Sindarin, "if he selected anyone at all, and I'm sorry if it came as an unwelcome surprise. He was not terribly pleased when last we spoke."

"Not entirely unwelcome," she assured him quietly, "But I can't say I'm thrilled at the prospect of living amongst dwarves."

"And I don't blame you, but I think you can do a great deal of good here," he insisted, "They are a stubborn, difficult lot to be sure, but you've already won over several, their new King not being the least of them." She flushed and he smiled a little more knowingly than she would have liked.

"I would… encourage you to follow your instincts in this matter, Tauriel. I know Thranduil is neither eager nor willing to extend friendship toward the dwarves of Erebor, but I've a feeling that an alliance between your two peoples might be key in the days to come." There was something ominous in his tone and in the way his eyes would not quite meet hers that set her skin crawling.

"You suspect dark days ahead, don't you Gandalf?"

The old wizard sighed, suddenly looking much older and wearier than he had mere moments before. "I suspect many things, none of which are confirmed or certain. I hope for peace, Tauriel, but I do not expect it. And neither should you."

She drew in a shaky breath and gave him a rueful smile, "I will do my best Mithrandir, but I can make no promises."

"That is all I or anyone else can ask of you," he said with a smile of his own. "Farewell, Tauriel and may the light of the Valar be with you, always."

"And with you," she replied and he mounted the heavily burdened cart beside his small companion. With a final wave from the odd pair, they turned and left them. Tauriel watched their departure with an array of emotions until they disappeared into the line of Mirkwood trees far into the distance.

* * *

**T**auriel worked alongside the Dwarves and Men as the battlefield was cleared little by little over the remainder of the day. It would take many days for all the wreckage and death to be removed completely, and she suspected the earth would always carry a stain of the misery it had wrought. She bitterly recalled her gleeful sentiments at not having to do exactly what she was doing in that moment, which was piling up the lifeless, foul, bodies of Orc's and Wargs that had been missed during the initial carcass round up. She found she was oddly grateful, however, for the work as it left little want or need for conversation. No one, save perhaps Kíli, who had almost immediately been whisked away into a political meeting with his grumpy kinsmen from the south, would have spoken to her anyway. She'd only been able to offer him one tentative and encouraging smile before he was gone. She had made a 'sort of' friend in the curious young dwarf, whose name, she had discovered, was Orí, and he was never far from her side, staring shyly and never speaking a word. He was helpful though, lifting heavy weapons and hefting massive bodies twice his size.

It was dismal, but necessary work, made all the more difficult when the stray body of dwarf, man or elf was found and Tauriel kindled a newfound gratitude for her presence as several disfigured elven bodies were discovered. She saw to their funeral pyres personally. As such it was late into the night when she at last returned to the camp just outside the ruins of Dale and found an unexpected face waiting for her.

"Luríena?!" she exclaimed and blinked in shock at her friends distinctly uncomfortable face. The She-Elf stood near the fire, opposite the wary party of dwarves, attempting to look detached and composed. Only her eyes gave way to her discomfort. Her friend rushed forward to greet her immediately, saying in Sindarin, "Tauriel! Prince Legolas sent me with your belongings," she motioned to a tidy pile of her possessions that had been neatly stacked to one side, "He told me the King had ordered you to remain behind and I simply couldn't believe it."

Tauriel gave the glaring party of dwarves a stern look and steered her friend to one side where they might speak in private. "Thank you Luríena, I am very happy to see a friendly face."

"Is it true? Are you to remain here with these… these… _dwarves_," she said at a disgusted whisper. Tauriel couldn't quite suppress a soft smile of amusement.

"I'm afraid so."

The other elf looked incredulous, "But _why_."

Tauriel sighed heavily; beyond weary after a long day of emotional upheaval and manual labor. "As an Ambassador, of sorts, supposedly. To garner friendship between our people… and theirs."

Luríena crinkled her nose, "I have a hard time believing our King would insist upon that."

"He didn't, Mithrandir did, Thranduil was… not pleased."

"Legolas didn't seem very happy either. In fact, I don't recall ever seeing him quite so distressed…"

Tauriel cringed and sighed, "I fear I'm a bit out of sorts… Luríena….I…" she hesitated, realizing she was about to divulge all the confusing feelings in her heart. She quickly searched her friend's concerned, innocent face and found she could not quite form the words.

"I'm… just glad you're here. It's nice to see a friendly face."

Her friend beamed and opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by a cheery voice.

"Tauriel! You must join us for dinner we're –Oh, hello…" Kíli, divested of crown and robes stared at Luríena in obvious surprise. He was holding two bowls of steaming stew with flagons of ale gripped between his fingers. The dwarves and many of the human men had decided to camp outside of Erebor among the ruins of Dale. Tauriel had wondered at the choice but, being very fond of the open sky and the stars, was grateful.

Tauriel smiled a little at the dwarf and motioned to her friend, " Kíli, this is my good friend Luríena. Luríena, I present to you, Kíli, King Beneath the Mountain."

Kíli seemed deeply embarrassed by the title and even in the dim fire light she could see his flush. Luríena executed a small curtsey and said, "I am honored to meet you, King Kíli."

Kíli cleared his throat and shook his head, "Please, I'm not a King yet, just a humble dwarf lad and certainly no one to bow to."

"Oh?" Tauriel questioned, "And I thought you were a great Prince among your people? I must have been mistaken…

Kíli shot her a look and, catching her teasing tone, smirked, "Oh aye, I am a great dwarven Prince to be sure. One who feels meekly shy when lovely maids bow before him."

Tauriel laughed despite herself and even Luríena chuckled, though she looked more than a little confused at their banter.

"Your friend would be welcome to share our meal," Kíli offered with sincerity and held out a bowl and mug to Tauriel who accepted them graciously. Their fingers touched over the warm wood of the carven bowl and heat, which had nothing to do with the stew, coursed through her. Kíli looked up into her eyes and held them for a brief moment before averting his gaze with another telling flush.

Tauriel cleared her throat, murmuring a thank you, and looked to Luríena who no longer seemed confused, instead she appeared suspicious. Tauriel took a quick swallow of the ale and was grateful for its honey warmth.

"I would like that, King Kíli, though I cannot stay long," Luríena said, warm and gracious as always. Her dark brown tresses lay loose and shinning, the creases of her dark green travel gown precise and elegant. Tauriel felt like a troll in her presence.

Kíli smiled and said, "Please, just call me Kíli, I've had enough of that 'King' business for one day," he turned and called behind him, "Bofur! Pour another bowl before you eat it all you great glutton!"

"Oh aye, your _majesty_!" came the sarcastic but good humored reply, prompting a chorus of (somewhat) drunken replies in kind.

"You see," Kíli said to the two elf maids with a grin, "No one treats me like a King anyway."

Luríena grinned kindly and they headed back toward the fire and the waiting company. Tauriel's eyes met Kíli's from across the fire as they sat and he winked at her. She couldn't help smiling into her stew despite her friends questioning looks and raised brow.

A few hours later found the moon high in the sky and Tauriel and Luríena clutching their eighth (or maybe tenth) flagon of dwarven ale. They sniggered slightly as two drunken dwarves attempted to show them a traditional dwarven dance. This, so far, had amounted to a lot of pushing, shoving, falling and cursing. Several of the dwarves and even a couple of Men, had produced flutes and fiddles and a lively tune had been taken up.

The dwarf called Bofur said, in his thick slurring brogue, "No ya great idiot! Ya turn left an' _I_ turn right."

Gloin, the red bearded dwarf with the wicked axe, glared at his dance partner, "Idiot?! What would a backward lad from the Blue Mountains know of _real_ dancin!" He then proceeded to kick up his short legs in a mad, drunken manner which Tauriel highly doubted would be considered a dance among _any_ race. His brother, Oín, was clapping cheerily as though it were the greatest display he had ever seen; he also had beer all down his front and bits of stew in his impressively long beard.

"I hadn' realized tha' such great lords danced like headless chickens!" Bofur roared, nearly falling over a pile of stones in his mirth. His statement was followed by a chorus of hearty laughter, general clanging of mugs and stamping of feet, and a very indignant glare from Gloin.

"I shouldn't expect you lot of cravens to appreciate true _art_ when you see it," the Dwarf Lord said then promptly belched and even Tauriel and Luríena had to laugh at that.

Taking another sip of her brew, which was surprisingly delicious, Tauriel glanced around the fire and found one face missing among the dwarves. She blinked and frowned, peering into the shadows for the wayward dwarven Prince, but she could see no immediate sign of him.

"Might I have this dance, milady?" Orí asked Luríena suddenly, all sweet, shy smiles. To Tauriel's surprise, the She-Elf beside her smiled and set her mug aside, taking the dwarfs proffered hand with a delicate press of her own.

"I would be honored, my lord," she said sweetly, leaving the young dwarf clearly star struck. It looked as though her little dwarven shadow had found a new elf to follow, she noted in amusement. The mismatched pair stepped toward the fire amidst a great approving cheer and a robust tune was started. Tauriel clapped cheerfully with the rest, for a time, as her friend whirled and spun gracefully and joyously about the flames, holding dwarves and men alike enraptured. Orí proved to be quite a fine dancer indeed. Still Kíli had not returned. She wondered how long he had been gone and understood that perhaps, for him at least, it was too soon for celebration.

She hesitated only a moment more before taking one last swig of ale and slipping away from the merry group of Men, Elves and Dwarves.

Silent as a shadow she walked alone through the ruined city. The warmth of the fire and drink left her so quickly it felt as though the ruins themselves had siphoned it away. It had been wonderful to enjoy herself for a moment, to forget the tragedy that had so recently befallen them, but here, amidst death and destruction, sadness was poignant once more. Smaug's presence would remain among the abandoned city for many years to come.

Tauriel picked her way carefully amongst the old debris, noting sadly the remnants of the lives once lived among the now silent stone and shadow. She paused for a moment to lift a partially smashed porcelain doll from the street. She smiled sadly as she realized it was meant to be dwarf lady, complete with braided hair and hints of a wispy beard. Tauriel placed the doll gently on a fallen parapet, allotting the broken toy a regal throne over the surrounding wreckage and continued on her way.

She found Kíli at the edge of town, opposite the camp site, looking out across the valley to the ruined Gate of Erebor, the mouth of the city dark and seemingly portentous. He was seated on large piece of stone that had once been part of the city walls and she could see, even from her distance, the tears shinning on his face. In his hands he held his runestone, twisting it between his hands just as he had during their first real conversation and it made her heart twinge. She paused, still within the shadow of the city, unsure if she should disturb his grief or if she should tempt her already erratic emotions. _Yes,_ she told herself, _it would be best if I left him alone_-

"You can come out Balin," Kíli called suddenly, just when she had been about to turn away, "I heard you stumbling about."

Tauriel cringed and sighed, saying, "I hadn't realized I walked like an old dwarf." She stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight as he turned toward her. He had rather exceptional hearing, for a dwarf.

Kíli started and immediately swiped the tears from his cheeks with the back of his coat sleeve. He cleared his throat sheepishly, "Ah… I'm sorry Tauriel. I figured Balin would come after me eventually."

She smiled kindly and moved slowly to stand near him, leaning back on the cool stone below him. From his perch he was quite a bit taller than she and Tauriel found it odd to be looking up at _him_ instead of the other way round.

"I noticed your absence and I thought perhaps you might like some company. Though I could leave if you'd like-"

"No," he said quickly, "Stay. Please, I do not wish to be alone with my thoughts any longer." His voice softened as he spoke and his gaze once more settled on the gates of his newly recovered kingdom. She wondered if he felt the sacrifice of his brother and uncle had been worth reclaiming his homeland. From her own experience, she imagined he would have traded every coin, every jewel and the entire mountain itself to have them back again. She knew she would have given everything she had to have her parents with her once more.

Tauriel remained silent, sensing that he needed her companionship more than he needed her words. The music from camp floated on a light winter breeze and tangled in her hair with a gentle, lingering touch. There was a melancholy tone to the music now and she wondered what they might be singing around the fire, if merry making had turned, as it must, to sad remembrance.

"He was always there, you know," Kíli said at last, his voice husky and far away. Tauriel looked up at his face, which had titled up toward the full moon, his eyes glistening. "We were always getting into trouble. I drove him mad for years, following him around, trying to be just like him. I looked up to him, he was my hero, even when he was being a prat," He chuckled a little but it was a hollow, lost sort of sound. "I… I keep looking for him you know, turning to share a joke or a look. In my head I know he is gone, but in my heart…" he trailed off.

Tauriel wet her lips and took a breath, turning her own face toward the silvery lantern in the sky, "When my parents died I used to stay up at night and talk to the stars, sure that they were up there listening somehow, watching after me."

She felt more than saw him glance her way as he said, "How old were you when you… lost them?"

She ducked her head little, "Young, by elven standards, still a child, really."

"I too was young when my father died… I barely remember him. Fíli… he takes after him," it wasn't lost on Tauriel how he referred to his brother in the present tense, and her heart ached for him."I've taken more to my mother's side. She used to say I was the spitting image of Thorin when he was my age. Was… was your mother like you?"

Tauriel grinned slightly as she remembered her mother with fondness, "I look much like her, yes. I've her hair and eyes, but more the face of my father. She was wiser than I, and fiery, her temper was somewhat renowned."

Kíli smiled in his turn and caught her eye, "I would say you may have inherited that temper. You're quite a… _ferocious _fighter. Not that you rival the ferocity of a _dwarf, _per say-"

"Of course not," she rolled her eyes.

"But you're certainly skilled," he allowed with a smirk.

"My father was a great fighter," she said, finding herself oddly eager to share parts of her past with him in a way she had never been eager to with anyone prior. "He was in the King's guard; he likely would have been Captain someday. He loved to read as well as fight, something I never took a keen enough interest in. He would read me stories as a child, wonderful tales from his rather impressive collection. We used to stay up late into the night, lying beneath the stars, as he built wondrous places with his words and voice."

Kíli's smile had gone soft and his eyes shone with an emotion that made her heart tremble. She looked away.

"My mother is a wonderful story teller," he said, "she used to gather all the children around the Great Hearth in the Blue Hall and tell us tales of Erebor, Moria and Mahal. Fíli was a fair storyteller as well, though he used his talents for trying to scare me at night in the dark of our room…" He trailed off, visibly cringing as though physically pained.

"You two must have gotten into immense trouble as children," she remarked, attempting to sound moderately light hearted. She knew, from personal experience, that it would ease his loss, in the long run, if he spoke of happier times.

He sighed and it was a weary, lost sort of sound, "What do you want to hear?"

"Anything, really, about all the adventures you had or the tricks you played."

"How do you know we played tricks?" He asked with strained humor.

"Please, I may not have much experience with dwarves, but I know a troublemaker when I see one."

Kíli chuckled with true amusement this time and suddenly he was leaning down toward her with a mischievous gleam in his eye. Tauriel swallowed and mentally forced herself to hold his gaze and not allow her eyes to wander to his full, slightly parted lips. Heat radiated off him in wonderful waves and Tauriel recalled that Dwarves typically ran hotter than other races. She wondered, vaguely, what his bare skin would feel like beneath her hands.

"Well, there _is_ one occasion that comes to mind," he said, distracting her from her inappropriate thoughts.

"D-do tell," she said, flinching internally as her voice shook.

"It was all Fíli's idea of course," he continued. "And it all started when Dwalin got it into his thick, bald head, to try to court our mother…."

Tauriel pictured the gruff, tattooed dwarf and gaped in shock, "What?!"

"Oh aye, but fear not, because Fíli and I taught him a right good lesson. So, first, we had to get a hold of some sheep…"

* * *

Next chapter includes:

Some Dáin confrontations and more about Kíli's claim to the throne.

Some plans for bringing the other dwarves of the Blue Mountains home to Erebor.

More dwarf/elf bonding.

(Oh, and fear not, Legolas isn't gone forever /winkyface)


End file.
